


To Endure

by eternalshiva



Series: Dragon Age Inquisition: Cullen x Fernweh Trevelyan [3]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/M, Implications of torture, Lyrium
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-05
Updated: 2014-12-05
Packaged: 2018-02-28 05:03:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2719682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eternalshiva/pseuds/eternalshiva
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The lyrium had allowed him to forget most of what had happened. He remembered the bigger events, the torture, and the blood but it was the little details now that were flooding back into him. He had to accept their meanings, their truth, if he was going to get better and be a better man for it. His guilt was a burden he carried and would not share with anyone. (has been translated in Spanish)</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Endure

**Author's Note:**

> cdr-alisha-shepard said: Up for angst? How about some lyrium withdrawal Cullen?
> 
> artsyneurotic said: You know me, I always need serious angst… how about some real dark times for Cullen’s lyrium withdrawals? horrific nightmares? envisioning the death of the Herald? not being able to tell reality from his nightmare? break him shiva, BREAK HIM
> 
> Betad by brandnewandancient
> 
> Spanish Translation: http://traduccionesporamoralarte.tumblr.com/post/112143611873/resistir

He gripped the edge of the desk tightly, without realising – nodding at the Inquisitor as she went over the details of their plan to see if the plague-affected Fallow Mires could be salvaged and cleared of the dead. If they could occupy the region and clear the magics at work there, they could further expand their forces and move refugees back into homes after rebuilding.

Well, if the people were _willing_ that is. Superstition and Fereldens were bad bedfellows and the idea of spirits, demons and apostates roaming the area were a bad real estate selling point.

Demons…He cleared his throat, trying to push the thought away but it was persistent _._

> _The soft sultry voice of a demon whispering in the darkness, the memory of slipping on the floor where the blood of his fellow Templars pooled at the feet of Uldred as he raised his hands up in the air, blood dripping down his hands and staining his robes._
> 
> _“You will obey, Templar…”_
> 
> _The thick sound of a staff striking the cobble stone of the floors, a prison of magic that tingled against his skin – his prayers silenced by the screams of innocents shouting from within the spire of the tower. The demon’s laughter tickling the back of his mind and all he can see are her eyes. Blaming him._

“Cullen?” Fernweh was looking at him, her brow knitted in the center, knowing there was something bothering him.

“Hmm?” He blinked, his hand rubbed the back of his neck as he could feel a headache building at the base of his skull. He cleared his throat again – couldn’t quite focus. _What were they…?_ He moved his hand from his neck and rubbed at his temples, leaning forward a little against the desk for support.

“I…” he clenched his jaw, bracing himself as he felt the first pang of need for lyrium hit him in the center of his gut. He could do this, he could work through the pain. He had made the decision and was not going to back down.

Fernweh made her way around the desk, her hand reaching out to touch the Commander, rubbing the back of his neck as tenderly as possible. He was tense under her ministration; his eyes squeezed shut for a brief moment. He let out a breath, straightened up and turned to her, smiling.

“I’m fine, forgive me for the interruption.” She didn’t miss the slight shake to his voice, looking up to meet his eyes. He knew she didn’t believe him.

“I could stay, you know – I can just delegate to the others,” she started but he shook his head, scoffing at the suggestion.

“No, my lady – The Inquisitor must be present in this. It will reassure the surviving residents and convince others to move into the area once it’s been cleared.” He grasped her free hand, the other still rubbing his neck gingerly, and gave her a tender kiss on the palm.

“Cullen…”

“I mean it, I’m fine. It’s nothing I can’t handle.”

She frowned again, her chin rising in defiance for a moment but instead chose to lean in to kiss him on cheek before turning on her heels to leave his office. She glanced at him once more over her shoulder, their eyes meeting one last time before she slipped out the door.

She wasn’t pleased with leaving, he could tell. He removed his leather gloves, his thoughts moving slower than normal while his headache increased with each heartbeat. He could feel the burn in his muscles, the pins and needles feeling climbing up his arms.

He rubbed his hands together to clear the irritation of it, his eyes lingering on the locked cabinet across the floor of his office. He could almost feel the pull of it.

He was _fine_.

Cullen walked around his desk, grabbing his sword on the way out of the door into the sunlight of the courtyard. He could hear Cassandra below, practicing against the straw stuffed dummies they had recently placed.

> _… soft fingers curling at the nape of his neck, warm lips against his – claws tearing into him._

“Commander.” Cassandra’s voice brought him to attention, smiling at her.

“Need a partner?” he quipped, throwing the lion’s mane of his shoulders and onto the ground, “I find myself in need of a distraction.”

“Oh?” Cassandra turned towards him, pulling her sword from the chest of the dummy, “Something troubling you?”

He shook his head, sword extended in invitation, which she gladly took. “At your ready, Cassandra.”

She lunged forward, steel against steel, his power vibrating through him as he released the pent up frustration. Cassandra followed his lead, smiling at the challenge. The Commander was intuitive not only with the sword and shield but also with the use of his Templar skill. Even without the use of the lyrium, she could feel it in the air around them – the energy being pull from within and outside of him. They weren’t the only ones to notice, mages practicing a few simple spells with children turned towards them when Cullen unleashed a Holy Smite against Cassandra – not that it did anything to her – she didn’t have magical abilities.

He was sweating. He could feel his hands shaking despite his steady flow of movements. He put more force into the strikes, the steel echoing against the walls of the enclosed area. He focused his thoughts, trying to forget, pulling more energy to strengthen his skill.

> _Blood dripped down the stairs – the flow was slow but thick enough to know there were no survivors to be expected. Cullen stood fast before the chamber door with a small company of men, sword in hand – he swallowed hard. This was where she slept with the other newly Harrowed mages – it had only been a few days since they last spoke after her Harrowing._
> 
> _He could hear the moans of a Rage Demon, there was fire everywhere. Whispers in his ears._

He felt it, the hot tinge of his blood boiling for a moment and he dropped his sword, confused when he could barely move. Cassandra was panting, frowning at him, and clutching her sword arm.

“Cullen!” she was yelling at him, he blinked – confused. “I yield!” Her eyes were glowing like those of a Templar but they were a different colour. Seekers could control Templars or mages easily enough. Why did she use it against him?

“Did you just…”

“You were not listening,” she straightened up, brushing herself off and wiping off the sweat at her brow, “I apologise for using it.”

Shaken, he nodded in response. “Forgive me, it was not my intent to go so far.” Cassandra let him go, her eyes narrowing at him.

“Apology accepted, Commander. “ Her hands rested on her hips casually, she was still watching him as he picked up his sword from the ground and he took a deep breath. “Is everything alright?”

“You are the second person to ask me that today.” He let out a breathy laugh, shrugging.

“I am sure the Inquisitor had her reasons for asking as well,” she deadpanned, her eyes never leaving his form as he bent over to pick up his armour and neatly placed it over his arm before bowing slightly towards the Seeker.

“If you will allow it, I will go rest – it seems I am pushing myself much today.” He smiled again, sheepishly but Cassandra wasn’t buying it.

“Of course. You know where to find me if you need me.” She watched him leave, concern etched on her brow as she rubbed her bruised arm. She wondered briefly if she should follow, but pushed away the thought.

Something wasn’t right.

After Cassandra had locked the remaining lyrium in his blood to get his attention, everything was burning. His skin felt itchy and sweat was rolling down his back. He swallowed hard as he climbed up the stairs to his room, he felt sluggish at best but hyper aware of everything surrounding him.

The noises, the voices – the sound of the wind was pulling at him. He could almost taste the magic in the air from the disciples in the yard – the thick weaving of the veil felt hot against his skin. His thoughts were all over the place. He rubbed the back of his neck and wondered for a moment how long the mission would take the Herald to complete.

He was _fine_.

He pulled open the door, stepped into his office and stopped, eyes locked on the cabinet with his Templar kit waiting inside. He clenched his fist – the shaking was becoming more and more noticeable. The small interlude of sword practice had relieved some of the muscular cramping but it hadn’t stopped the pins and needles.

A sharp pain cut across his skull, he yelled in surprise as his knees weakened but it wasn’t enough to take him down entirely. With both hands, he grabbed at his temples, trying to get himself under control. He slowly made his way to his desk, applying pressure to his temples in hopes of easing the mounting pressure behind the bone, willing the pain to subside for just a moment. He called for a messenger, writing a short note to his second that he was not to be disturbed for the rest of the day and evening.

Once he was alone, again, he leaned back into his chair and closed his eyes. The lyrium had allowed him to forget most of what had happened. He remembered the bigger events, the torture, and the blood but it was the little details now that were flooding back into him. He had to accept their meanings, their _truth_ , if he was going to get better and be a better man for it. His guilt was a burden he carried and would not share with anyone.

That wasn’t right. He’d had attacks before but this time… it _felt_ different. He could sense the lyrium in his blood – moving, heating each part of his body. His Templar abilities were almost singing to be released and he was having trouble resisting the urge to take a breath and let it consume him with a powerful Cleanse.

He heard the papers from his desk flutter onto the ground – he opened his eyes and blinked at the sudden mess in his office, as though a strong wind had blown though. He realised quite slowly that he had indeed done just as he thought. He could feel the energy of the spell in his office.

“You’re going mad,” he whispered, gripping the arms of his chair in vain as another wave of pain wrecked through him.

> _“Help the children, if there are any survivors, and bring them to Wynne, I will deal with the Rage Demon.” He shouted at the men, who nodded and braced themselves for the worst. Cullen kicked the door open and stepped through the ravenous fire. There were bodies everywhere._
> 
> _“Anyone here?” He shouted into the depth of the room – he could only hear the roar of the fire. The smell of the burnt flesh was turning his stomach but he had to push through._
> 
> _“Anyone?”_
> 
> _He heard the shouts of his men and the clambering of swords – the feel of the Templar Cleanses washed over him but before he can turn back to see where the Demon had his men trapped, he heard claws brush against his armour – “Do you want her…?”_
> 
> _The thick nails brushed against his exposed throat –_

Cullen shook his head, trying to forget but he couldn’t – the memory of smoke burned his nostrils and the scar still pulsed on his neck. He stands up, eyes on the kettle next to his hearth. He reached into the top right drawer of his desk and removed a small box from its confines. Solas had suggested that this tea could help him with the pain and possibly the memories when they were at their worst.

Memories were like dreams, twisted with lies and the truth. He wasn’t sure if these were his or that of the demon and the elf hadn’t been able to really help him clear that up either.

Slowly, he put the pot of water above the fire and waited for it to warm, twisting the wooden box in his hands – he stood next to the flames, watching.

> _He could feel the heat against his skin, his screams ripped through the room he was kept in. The Demon knew he had wanted her and she took her shape. She touched his mind, soft subtle whispers of promises, she wormed her way in, taking all his secrets and his desires one memory at a time._
> 
> _“Please, please… stop.” He begged, he pleaded._
> 
> _“You will… break.” She refused._

His hands were shaking. The kettle’s piercing wail caught his attention and took it off the fire, he took another breath to calm himself but it wasn’t very effective. He crushed the leaves in the bottom of his cup and poured the hot liquid carefully but he still made a mess – it splashed across documents and the Fallow Mire map.

He couldn’t stop shaking.

He picked up the map and followed Fernweh’s intended path, trying to keep his mind off the pain. He could hear her voice repeating their plan to make sure she was on the right track. His finger followed the camps and wondered how far she was from the keep.  _You cannot have her._ The demon’s gold eyes flashed before him, his memory blinding reality

> _The chains rattled against the floor, he was bleeding again – stripped of his uniform, dry of lyrium – he had no power to fight against them. He had nothing left. Nothing but words he kept repeating._
> 
> _“Maker, my enemies are abundant. Many are those who rise up against me. But my faith sustains me; I shall not fear the legion, Should they set themselves against me.”_
> 
> _He kneeled, fingers clasped in prayer – the screams, he could only hear screaming. He could feel his eyes burning with tears he could no longer weep. The demon appeared again, her shape had taken the form of a woman he knew well, someone he thought he could love from afar._
> 
> _There was something different this time, she did not have her long golden locks – no, she had short brown hair. She wielded two knives instead of a staff. This wasn’t…_
> 
> _“Maker, though the darkness comes upon me, I shall embrace the light. I shall weather the storm. I shall endure. What you have created, no one can tear asunder. “_

He felt the bile rise from his stomach and swallowed it down, he set his cup aside and wiped at his brow again. He was sweating, shaking and sick. He removed his armour – he was soaked through his undershirt.

This wasn’t right.

He was burning from the inside. Everything hurt. He looked at his locked cabinet again but gritted his teeth.

He would endure. He _had_ to.

> _Blood slicked the surface of the Harrowing Hall, lumps of flesh and corrupted lyrium lined the walls – he was sleepy, tired. Uldred stood alone in the circle, the First Enchanter unconscious at his feet. Cullen could feel the tear in the veil, the dead rose to their feet and she was there too – dead. A puppet. A ghost of what once was good and pure._

He shouted, desperate to suppress the memories that were rushing back far too quickly. He curled into himself, pressing his forehead to the table and squeezed his eyes shut.

> _Bodies everywhere – the scent of rot and magic filled his mouth, the desire demon touched his most personal thoughts. She pulled, he weakened. She took and he gave nearly eagerly, willingly, for her assault to stop._
> 
> _He begged, she denied – the dance continued. He couldn’t see anymore, he pleaded the Maker for the darkness to take him. There was only silence as his answer. His resolve was failing as was his faith, his lips still prayed silently, regardless – he dared to hope._
> 
> _“Though all before me is shadow, yet shall the Maker be my guide. I shall not be left to wander the drifting roads of the Beyond. For there is no darkness in the Maker's Light and nothing that He has wrought shall be lost.”_
> 
> _Words that meant nothing, he thought as the screams ebbed and grew into silence over time. His brothers and sisters were dead, or taken into the dreams of the Desire Demons. They were possessed and he wasn’t sure if that was a good or bad thing at this point. At least, they were no longer suffering._

* * *

Cassandra heard it, the scream, clear across the yard into her room.

She rose from her bed, looking up towards the Commander’s quarters and quickly concluded that her binding had done something unexpected. She dressed, exiting her room and stepped into the night. She made her way quietly towards the great hall of Skyhold, seeking Solas.

“Solas,” she stepped into his chambers, his name barely a whisper as she roused him from his slumber. The elf blinked wearily at the woman.

“Seeker? What has happened?”

“I am not sure, but I suspect I may have caused it. Cullen is struggling.”

“What do you mean,” he followed her quickly, pulling on his shirt haphazardly. He narrowed his eyes as they exited through the side door and walked towards the commander’s quarters. He could feel the pull of the Templar’s powers, trying to snuff out his link to his magic.

“This afternoon, Cullen seemed to be in need of a distraction from his obvious withdrawal. He lost his focus and I had to bind the lyrium in his blood when we were sparing to stop him from injuring me further.”

Solas shook his head at her information, the implication of that did not settle well with him. “We must act quickly,” he stared up at the tower; Cassandra nodded and increased the speed of her step.

* * *

> _The dead surrounded him, Fernweh stood before him, naked, smiling – covered in blood. “Do you think you deserve her?” she whispered, playing with a knife, still slick with his blood. Her lips moved but the voice of the demon resonated in the room. She brought the blade to his throat._
> 
> _“Does she deserve you, Templar?”_
> 
> _Cullen was confused, this didn’t happen at the tower. Old and new memories were mixing together and he was sure he was under another spell. Was Skyhold under attack?_
> 
> _“Answer me, Commander.” Her voice flickered to her real one momentarily. He did not want to answer, but he could feel the demon’s energy digging in his mind, looking for the answer. He gripped at the chains that bound his wrists, pulling at them; his skin was breaking under the pressure. The pain tore at him as surely as his head was going to split._
> 
> _“You resist, but you fail,” she whispered into his ear – the intimacy of it turned his stomach – this was not Fernweh. “She will die.”_
> 
> _The Desire Demon smirked, he felt the blade slide up his neck and up to his lips, she pressed down – the muscle caved under the pressure and blood filled his mouth._

* * *

When they reached the Commander’s door – they could hear him speaking – whispering. There was crashing sounds and suddenly the air felt tight and uncomfortable. A bright white light filled the inside of the building and Solas stepped back, nervous.

“You must restrain him again, Seeker. He is not himself – I cannot help here until he is bound.”

Cassandra looked away from him, frowning. How had this happened? Templars could easily fight the lyrium burn once she set her skill on them but she’d never used it against one that had stopped taking it.

She pushed the door open and was met with the strangest sight. The Commander stood in the middle of the room, sword in hand in only his undershirt and pants – she could see the large patches of sweat on his clothing despite the darkness of his surroundings. The only source of light was the bright burn of his ability puffing out like smoke from his eyes. Although it had nearly been a year since his last use of Lyrium, it was still strong in his body. It was embedded in him – could a templar really be free of it? Cassandra wasn’t so sure.

“Cullen.” She commanded his attention, he turned towards the sound of her voice but he did not react, she could still hear him whispering. She twisted her head slightly, trying to understand what he was saying.

“Draw your last breath, my friends,” he raised his sword, pointing it at Cassandra. She stood still, observing his action and considered her next move carefully. “Cross the Veil and the Fade and all the stars in the sky. Rest at the Maker's right hand, and be forgiven.” He was openly sobbing, the words dripping from his lips – his eyes grew bright again as he drew on the active lyrium in his blood and prepared himself against the intruders. Cassandra knew he wouldn’t hurt her but Solas would suffer the effects and she couldn’t allow it.

“Wake up, Cullen – you are trapped in the memories ignited by the lingering lyrium in your blood.” She warned him, hand ready to signal her binding if he did not see her clearly. He hesitated at the sound of her voice, it confused him for a moment as the voice was foreign in his memories and staggered forward, shaking his head slightly. The sword fell to the ground and he clutched his head before falling to his knees.

“I must endure. I must _endure it_.” He spoke the words between gritted teeth, she could hear his pain but he would not listen to her. She wished the Herald was here; then again, maybe it would be best she did not see him as such.

“Stubborn,” she snorted out in disgust and took hold of the lyrium in his system, paralyzing him once more but she was careful not to set it aflame like before. He struggled, his eyes still blazing hot with power but she twisted it further, carefully knocking him out.

The silence was welcomed for once; Cassandra sighed and stepped into the commander’s office with the mage in tow. He kneeled next to Cullen and attentively touched him, checking his temperature. Solas closed his eyes and a blue shimmering light came from his hands as he searched for the cause. He was no healer, but he could certainly find lyrium within the body.

“He is feverish – the old lyrium is burning at an extraordinary rate. It is… _unusual_.”

“Is it as I suspected?” Cassandra looked out the door towards the courtyard, there was no one there – so far the problem had been unseen. “Have I caused this?”

“Yes,” Solas replied simply, it didn’t help Cassandra feel any better. She knew the Commander would take this situation as a sign he is unfit to command the troops and she couldn’t have that. This was _her_ doing. “We should take him to the Inquisitor’s quarters,” Solas’s voice cut through her self-loathing quite suddenly.

Cassandra stared at the elf, blinking. “Why there? The Inquisitor is away on a mission and we would have to carry him across Skyhold for all to see.” She did not want to shame him, let alone be the cause of an undue rumour of madness. It may shake the resolve of other Templars who have decided to do the same as Cullen.

“I doubt the Inquisitor would mind, seeing as they are intimate,” Solas snorted indignantly and pointed above them, “And I am not sure how we would carry this man up that small ladder and continue to care for him.” Cassandra crossed her arms, considering his words. “Also, it is dark and well past the time most would linger outside besides the drunks from the Tavern.”

“True,” she yielded easily enough to his surprise, then again, Cassandra always did surprise him - one of the few humans who could think outside the proverbial box.

Regardless of the help from the mage, Cassandra struggled to lift the ex-Templar across her shoulders. As a warrior, she was capable enough to carry the wounded but this man was entirely unconscious and deadweight as a result. Proceeding carefully, they made their way to their destination.

* * *

Fernweh looked up and tried to fight the urge to smile. She could see Skyhold on the morning horizon and although it had only been day since she’d left, it felt longer – maybe it was the anxiety that had plagued her since the moment she left that was skewing her impression of time.

She’d been kicked out of her own group, Iron Bull muttering something about her being grumpy and Cole wasn’t helping her anxiety with his constant quips of _his hands shake holding the small bottle, he tests the chains_. They’d gone to the Mire and here she was, at Skyhold’s gate, staring at her windows, wondering why there was a fire burning in the hearth.

“Inquisitor,” the stable hand saluted her and she nodded in response, her gaze was still focused on the orange glow while she dismounted quickly. She handed over the reins and pulled off her leather gloves, narrowing her eyes in thought. She turned, looking up towards Cullen’s quarters and had a sinking feeling. His rooms were dark – no smoke was coming from the chimney.

She made her way up the stairs, nibbling at her lower lip, and opened the large doors of Skyhold’s central hall. It was empty, but considering the time, that wasn’t entirely unusual. She shook the snow from her cloak and neatly folded it on her arm, frowning slightly when she noticed Solas sleeping on one of the couches by the fireplace.

He looked worn out, tendrils of magic still fluttering around him as though he’d spent far too long weaving his magics – Fernweh walked over to him and leaned in towards him, squinting her eyes at the elf. She wanted to wake him, ask him why he was in such a state but deep down in her gut she had an inkling of an idea. She poked him slightly, testing his sleepiness but he didn’t even budge, not even when she flicked his ear gently to get his attention. He was out cold.

She placed her cloak on the back of the couch and quickly headed up to her quarters, taking the stairs two at a time, ignoring everything else. She arrived at the final door, and she paused, her hand on the handle and she swallowed hard, the anxiety peaking for a moment. She shook her head slightly and took a deep breath, pushing away the wry thoughts and opened the door only to be met with a very odd sensation.

The room was hot and there was heaviness to the air. She could feel the pang of magic against her skin, it was almost palatable. What had happened in her absence? Arriving at the top of the stairs, she noticed someone in her bed, the sheets were tangled and most were on the floor of her bedroom, the shape was curled into themselves but she’d recognize it anywhere.

It was Cullen.

She looked around the room for a bit of a hint as to why her Commander would take refuge in her chambers but all she could see were spent bottles of potions, trays of water and rags and his clothing. She noticed another person in her room, laying on the couch. She raised a brow, surprise to see that the Seeker snored very lightly. Before she could go there to wake her friend, Cullen stirred, mumbling in his sleep – Fernweh moved a little closer, carefully tiptoeing in fear of waking anyone.

She didn’t get far.

Cullen sat up suddenly, the sheet slipped down his chest and gathered at his waist. Fernweh wondered why he wasn’t dressed but the thought was cut short when she noticed that his eyes were glowing white. She’d seen that before – her family was devoted to the Templars and the Chantry, most of her family was part of the order itself. She felt the pull of his power in the very space she occupied, his teeth were bare, clenched in rage and he shouted so loudly she was taken by surprise.

There was a pulse that filled the room, her body sapped of energy as she dropped to her knees, realising she’d been stunned by a Holy Smite.

“Shit,” Cassandra stumbled off the couch and did something that made Cullen drop back unto the bed – unconscious.

“Cassandra, what is happening here?” Fernweh was angry, distressed at what she was seeing. He said he could endure it. Had he lied to her?

The Seeker turned towards her leader, eyes wide in shock. “Inquisitor!”

“Answer me!”

Cassandra could feel the anger lingering around the rogue, her misunderstanding was clear and it needed to be addressed before she drew any further conclusions.

“Cullen is suffering from Lyrium Burn,” she added softly, still reeling from waking suddenly and activating her own skill against the ex-Templar.

“He is what, now?” Fernweh had never heard of it – nor had Cullen mentioned it. She knew the order was secretive, but this seemed like something important that should be mentioned in his recovery process.

“Lyrium Burn,” Cassandra repeated, smoothing out her clothing, rumpled from her little sleep.

“Care to explain?” Fernweh was watching Cullen, he was stirring again but he did not wake. She could see the sheen of sweat on his skin, the room smelled of sickness and magic. The heat was almost overwhelming.

“As you know, my abilities allow me to bind lyrium in someone’s blood – I can paralyze mages or Templars, even set it on fire if I wish.” Cassandra sat down on the couch, leaning over to pick up her book that had fallen in her rush to subdue Cullen.

“Okay,” the Inquisitor was rubbing the back of her neck, worry etched on her face was clear. She was tired, worried and angry.

“A day ago, Cullen requested that we train, he was having… problems dealing with some of the side effects with his lyrium withdrawl, I suspect. “

“You suspect?”

“As you know, inquisitor, Cullen is a private person – proud and would not seek help if he didn’t believe it necessary,” she gently reminded her leader of this fact, which Fernweh irritably agreed with.

“How did it end up like this, then?” she motioned at the form of her lover on her bed and pointed at the mess on the floor. Cassandra sighed, feeling the exhaustion settling in.

“From what Solas explained, when I bound him to stop him during our sparring session,” Fernweh frowned, Cassandra waved it off, ensuring her she would explain later, “I initiated an unknown side effect – usually when I use my skill against the mages or templars, they do not suffer as such since they will replenish the lost lyrium in their blood.”

Fernweh’s eyes opened wide in understanding. “So, you’ve accelerated his lyrium recovery, but it’s going so fast that he’s unable to control the speed of the side effects.”

Surprised, Cassandra nodded. “We… have to keep vigil, he is lost to memories and the lyrium is active in his body. He keeps activating his powers to fight whatever he is remembering and I must bind him into submission every time or he may injure those trying to help.”

“Can he recover from this?”

“Physically, yes.” Cassandra leaned forward, elbows on her knees and stared at the commander before rubbing both hands across her face in frustration. “Mentally, I cannot say. He may think this is a sign that he is not fit for his position and leave it, regardless of what we tell him.”

Fernweh pinched the bridge of her nose, she knew she should have stayed here, but she ignored her gut feeling and let herself think everything would be alright.

“Go eat, Cassandra, change your clothes and have a nap in your own bed, I will fetch you if anything happens.”

“But he may…”

“He’s out cold, I’m sure it will be a while before it wears off again, correct?” she smiled briefly at her companion, Cassandra nodded, weary of leaving them alone. “I will let Solas know you have returned. He may want to come and check on the Commander’s fever.”

“Okay,” Fernweh turned away from Cassandra, looking at the mess to pick up in her chambers. She heard the door close and she immediately changed out of her riding clothing into something a bit more comfortable then proceeded to clean the area.

Soon after, she crawled into bed with Cullen, curled next to him and careful not to touch him. She wasn’t sure how he would react to physical contact, all their conversations about his time when he was tortured were mostly induced through his mind but they were all physical attacks. Some he wouldn’t even elaborate on.

She watched him, wiped at the sweat the poured off him and kept him cool when she could, he stirred and moaned in his sleep – her heart was breaking. Solas had come and gone, giving her the potions she must ensure he drinks to keep him sedated and cool from the lyrium.

Cassandra had spent a few hours with her after much needed rest, she stayed with her, quietly supporting the Inquisitor when things were said from his past and Fernweh couldn’t bear to see him suffer.

It was days before there was any change in him.

* * *

She was standing on her balcony, watching as the team returned from the Mire with some success. It wasn’t as simple as they thought, the Mire was cursed for sure, and it was uninhabitable. They would have to look deeper into it but for now, at least they had cleared it free of undead and she needed to head down there to close the rifts that had been identified.

She made her way back inside, thoughts still lingering on the work to be done when she noticed Cullen sitting up, awake. She felt her heart stop for a moment, unsure what would happen.

“Are you real?” His voice was thick, raw from sleep and waking nightmares. She could see him shaking but his gaze was locked on hers. She closed the balcony doors behind herself and tentatively stepped towards him, her bare feet silent against the stone floors. She reached his side, sat next to him and gave him the most brilliant smile she could muster; he reached out and touched her face as though he was trying to reassure himself of her actual presence.

“Yes, I am.”

He smiled a little, relief was evident but his lips were tight with emotion. She pulled him to her arms, kissing his temple, his nose and a small tender kiss on his scarred lip before his arms came around her waist. He pulled her close, laying her down with him in the bed and wrapped himself around her, anchoring his reality with her own.

She was there, solid – not the conjuration of a foe from years ago. He buried his face in her hair, breathing her in – his eyes burned with unshed tears.

She was _real_.

Fernweh only held him tighter when she felt his shoulders shake with grief.


End file.
